


The Ottoman

by Niham87



Series: Uneasy lies the head that wears the Crown [3]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: 3x8 - bar scene, Canon Divergence, F/M, Flashbacks, Light Angst, Oral Sex, Pearl Necklace, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Masturbation, Titty Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27323233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niham87/pseuds/Niham87
Summary: He bursts right there, in his hand, both to her flesh and her ghost, proving there isn’t kindness left in either, that all she must be is a fucking witch.(A flashback to 2x09, wherein the ottoman was used as sex surface)
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: Uneasy lies the head that wears the Crown [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953274
Comments: 26
Kudos: 80





	The Ottoman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lobelisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobelisa/gifts).



> This is basically a headcanon about the ottoman. You guys can't tell me they didn't fuck on it. Beth was acting too cute, she had her back blown there and I'll probably write more fic about it. 
> 
> Very lightly revised and un-beta. Sry for any mistakes. My Heart Goes Bum Bum Bum by Flatsound was playing on the background for the most of it.
> 
> This one is for my wifey, enjoy baby! Thank you for putting up with me and listening to my bs and thirsting over baby with me 🤧

Call it sixth-sense, survival instinct, fight-or-flight response. Call it what you might, but whenever Beth Boland schemes nearby his brain beacons like a lighthouse. 

It ain’t different that evening, when she waltzes in the bar, clad in a polka-dot ensemble. All glorious hills and cinched curves, neon-lit hair and peach-glossed lips. Just a sliver of her svelte forearms and shapely shins visible. Doesn’t matter. He knows damn well what’s underneath all that cloth, knows it would be like unwrapping a gift, and shit... that look on her face.. she came offering somethin’ alright. 

His body tenses up, muscles taut while his spine weakens and bone brittles. 

_Fuck._

It’s like she sucks in bone-marrow and not oxygen; as if she’s broken him at the kneecaps and not axed him at heart. It’s stupid the way the cunting battered thing works itself out, struggling to flow the surplus of blood through one-way trails. Better to not even acknowledge the way his soul sings, that’s just mental at this point.

He rocks on the stool, bourbon swirling at the bottom of his glass; it ain’t like she wasn’t already in his thoughts, innit? Still, he doesn’t need this. 

“Shouldn’t you be making my money?”

She leans onto the seat, the fluffy mass of her hair bounces off a faint cloud of perfume. Something floral; the same fragrance that had stained her bed pillows.

“Just here having a drink,” she says in that lilt that grates at his groin and jerks his cock. 

She gets even cuter after that, batting those big blue eyes at him, polishing his ass with faint jabs that he tries to dodge by trading licks with her. 

At some point he has enough. Cuts it by the root. “What do you want, Elizabeth?”

She wants what’s fair. Of course she does. He chuckles, reminds her that she owes him. Reminds himself that what’s fair is three slugs in her to match his. 

The porcelain of her swan-like neck bobs but doesn’t crack. “Can’t we just go back?”

That demulcent, in all its audacity, fucks him up more than he’d like to admit. He looks away cause she’s doing it again, what she does best, getting something for hardly anything. “That’s up to you.”

“What does that mean?” 

He has asked himself that same question many times, after all he’s still in bed with her, ain’t he? And that fucking bed has more layers than an onion, and it’s just as sour. He debates for the umpteenth time if it wouldn’t be kinder to live with her ghost than with her flesh; knows that pointing another gun at her was just giving her more ammunition. Nah, he’s got other plans for her. 

“You gotta earn it back.”

“Okay.”

She sips the bourbon. Watching her it’s like reading the fine print in a contract after you’ve affixed your signature. The hollow of her neck caves with the richness of the whiskey, and he can’t help but feel like he’s the one trapped in her throat, right where she wants him. _“Yeah?”_

“I’ll do anything,” she assures.

He cocks his head. Props his jaw against a closed fist cause right now what he really wants is to squeeze the grace out of that neck. “Anything, huh?”

“Within reason,” she warns, all the generosity gone in an instant. 

Yeah… she’s right about one thing. He can use her.

“Still got that minivan?”

“Why?”

“I might have something for you.”

_“My ottoman?”_

The deliver hits him like a sack full of bricks, even when her tone is light and playful. He knows that quirk on her devious mouth, it rears up when she’s satisfied.

He shakes off the dread with an acerbic snicker, blurts out a _nah_ and performs a 23 Skidoo towards the backdoor. 

Oh, she designed all of this alright, knowing exactly where to strike. The dress, the witty comments about her bed... _the ottoman._

The crisp night air blast him right in the face. The door closes behind him, muffling the upbeat bar music but he’s already hearing another tune. He bangs the G-Wagon’s door, however pointless. His mind is bubbling with unsolicited memories. Back to a different night, back to that bathroom. To the burgundy polka-dot dress bunched up at her hips, the arch of her back, and her climax, crooning against his ear. 

Back to her bedroom. To her alabaster body imprinted on blue sheets, the curl of her toes against his glutes, her cunt squelching hot on his cock. 

But it’s that goddamn ottoman that haunts him the most. 'Twas there he saw her full naked glory of her for the first time. 

'Twas different. Every time it had been. That first clandestine fuck had been hot and rushed. The last, no less sordid, with hate simmering under the skin and the welts on her back to prove it. Her bedroom tho, he remembers it like a dirty dream. Sometimes he still wonders if it really happened. 

Her lips so tentative at first they were barely there. Her fingers flailing to get rid of his shirt. His rushing all over her body, pressing her soft curves to him, making sure it was real, chasing her to the ottoman to pull the mismatched socks from her feet.

Her jeans peeled off like a second skin, it might just have been so. He had never seen flesh like hers before. So translucent ‘twas as if the sun had never kissed it. It could have fool him as pink marble, ‘cpet it had pulsing veins.

The cotton thong slid easily through the burnished stretch of her legs. The whiff of her arousal, the gloss of her pink, shaved labia just an appetizer for something bigger. The afternoon light might have been basting her with a halo-like glow but it was when the straps of bra came off that he faced divinity; her breasts.

In such lustrous and commanding presence, he’d fallen to his knees, bowing for the worship they deserved. He’d crawled his way between her thighs, leaving a trail of kisses up the creamy inside of her legs. Snatched the chubby of her mound into his mouth. She’d hissed when the tip of his tongue dipped in the gorge of her clit. Her belly concaved, skin flared in goosebumps when he nipped at her ribcage. 

He still reels on the pendulous feel of her orbs weighing down his palms. The way they spilled their bounty in-between his sprawled fingers. So much. So giving. So soft. 

A tremendous contrast to the pebbles of her nipples. So terse and hard against the flick of his tongue.

The sweet bumps of her contracted areola still played with the ridges of his tongue. 

The yearn of her clawed hand, urging him to suckle more of her into his mouth still has him keen; so has her moan, when he tested their pliancy with the sharp egdes of his teeth. And her mouth, parted in ecstasy as the dusky pink flesh rebounded back to place, somehow even plumper.

He’d palmed their impressive softness at the sides, bringing them together in absolute awe. He leaned in and verified their silkiness with the dark stubble on his cheeks. Her cunt dampened his abs with her gooey juices. Her belly heaved under his forearms, in between glorious pants. It was the most beautiful thing, the contrast of their skins. Tough and wiry upon tender and curvy. 

“Fuck, mama… you’re stunning.” A flush bloomed on her chest. Hungry, he’d pawed her tit, following its path up her elegant neck. _“Exquisite.”_ He’d murmured, holding the bob of her apple in his palm, the dip of chin dimple under his thumb, the plump of her bottom lip below its pad.

He’d lost it when the wet tip of her tongue peeked out to leap at it. Cock about to combust when the breathy lilt of her voice reached his brain. “Do you want to... _fuck them, my tits?”_

“Hell, yes. I do.” He’d growled possessed, taking her mouth, slurping at lips, fingers and tongue on his way up. It had been his turn to reel, digits loosing all dexterity in the wake of her offer. Hers came in aid, a wicked knowing grin as she edged at the ottoman. She’d released the button and fly and yanked at jeans and briefs. His cock sprung free, and she hadn’t wasted time, enclosing the thickness in her hand and pumping the pre-cum at the crown tentatively.

He’d skimmed out of his clothes just as her tongue lashed, the hot breath of mouth making him weak at the knees. One hand wounded up at his side while the other buried at the gold strands on her temple. She worked his length in, swallowing him bit by bit until it found the back of her throat. 

He’d cursed at the sight of her lips closed around his girth, the clench around his pulsing head. She pulled out, smeared the slickness all over his shaft and leaned onto her elbows. Her thumbs and indicators teased the tiny, rosy pebbles and cupped the massive of her cups in offering.

He hadn’t wasted time, straddling over her. He gripped his base and rubbed the crown against her nipples before finding his way through the valley of her breasts.

It was almost criminal; that soft, slick give. The way she knew just where to apply pressure. How the tip of his cock barely came past the upcurve of her tits, already raging for some sort of release.

He almost had it when she squeezed the orbs hard between her fingers and tipped her chin. The wetted tongue teased the sensitive tip, a lick of fire straight to his loins. “Shit, baby…” Giddy, he’d thrown his head back, clutching at her nape. “You’re gonna make me bust like that.”

“Yeah?” she provoked, guiding the weight of her tatas up and down his throbbing length.

“Mm-hmm,” he’d bit his lip, spreading his stance to give her more leverage. 

“I think it's about time you give me my pearl necklace back,”

“Yeah?” he groaned as she sped up.

“Yeah…” she lilted, splaying one had to grip both tits and striking her way to the hollow of her neck with the other. “Right here,” she said, drawing the arch of her collarbone with the back of her nails while the fat crown peeked between the v of her breasts.

“Goddamn it, Elizabeth.” It was all he had time to say before the first gush filled the hollow at the base of her neck. He gripped his meat hard, controlling the bursts on shaky legs. Milked every drop for her cum necklace. Sighed with pained relieve when she took him back in her mouth to taste him. The gentle sucks doing nothing but keep him hard.

“Happy?” he asked with a wolf-like grin as she pumped him and looked at his dandy work, trickling down her hefty mounds. 

“Are you?” she’d cracked. He hadn’t replied, cupped her face and kissed her instead, the taste of him still zesty on her tongue.

In the G-wagon his hand had found its way into his pants. The orgasm already rearing its head just by thinking about what came next, when the familiar tingle of her presence made itself known just as her golden head crossed the street to catch an awaiting Uber. His eyes followed her with greed, that hypnotizing dip and slither of her hips, the succulent bounce of her knockers. She bent over to climb in, gracing the driver with her minx smile. He hates it. Albeit his cock enjoys it immensely when the moonlight baths the exposed skin at her back and the dress stamps the shape of her ass like a decree. 

He bursts right there, in his hand, both to her flesh and her ghost, proving there isn’t kindness left in either, that all she must be is a fucking witch. 


End file.
